


Bare

by asroarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, F/M, Future Fic, Kink Meme, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pining, Shaving, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asroarke/pseuds/asroarke
Summary: Frankly, it’s ridiculous that Clarke wants to ask someone about this. With everything that happened with the Primes, Clarke has a thousand things to be worried about. The last thing that should be on her mind is figuring out how to shave her pussy without cutting herself.When Josephine had control of Clarke’s body, she shaved down there. Clarke hadn’t noticed at first, but late that first night back in control of her body, she couldn’t sleep. Out of habit, her hand slipped into her leggings only to find herself completely bare. It felt incredible. Clarke couldn’t stop touching herself. Her skin was too smooth. But all attempts to replicate it have been painful. Angry bumps form where her cunt and thighs meet, and she always manages to nick her sensitive skin.OR the one where Clarke needs help shaving.





	Bare

**Author's Note:**

> For the Kink Meme prompt: Bellamy shaving Clarke's pussy

As Clarke looks around at her friends, she realizes there is no good option. Raven isn’t here, otherwise she would be Clarke’s first choice. Echo has been distant, though Clarke suspects that has more to do with Bellamy than with her. Clarke has no idea what happened with them, but it wasn’t pretty. She knows that much. And she’s fairly certain that Emori has never shaved a day in her life.

Frankly, it’s ridiculous that Clarke wants to ask someone about this. With everything that happened with the Primes, Clarke has a thousand things to be worried about. The last thing that should be on her mind is figuring out how to shave her pussy without cutting herself.

When Josephine had control of Clarke’s body, she shaved down there. Clarke hadn’t noticed at first, but late that first night back in control of her body, she couldn’t sleep. Out of habit, her hand slipped into her leggings only to find herself completely bare. It felt incredible. Clarke couldn’t stop touching herself. Her skin was too smooth. But all attempts to replicate it have been painful. Angry bumps form where her cunt and thighs meet, and she always manages to nick her sensitive skin.

“You look confused,” Bellamy says, plopping down in the seat beside her. Clarke shakes her head. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Clarke replies with a small laugh. He cocks his head to the side. “Have you seen Raven?”

“Not in a while. What do you need?”

“Just want to ask her about something.”

“About what?”

Clarke narrows her eyes at him. He’s being awfully nosy today. Or maybe he just wants to be of use. That’s the more likely answer.

But now that she thinks about it, Bellamy shaved his face almost daily when they first hit the ground. If anyone were to know how to avoid the red bumps and nicks, it would be him.

“Shaving,” she answers.

Bellamy blinks a few times as if he didn’t hear her right. “Shaving,” he repeats. “Like your legs?”

“Yeah,” she lies.

He ducks his head and his fingers tug at his ear. “Well, uh, maybe I could help.”

Clarke glances around the room before leaning forward, planting her elbows on the table, and asks him about how to avoid nicking herself with the razor. His advice is good, but not really applicable to her situation. He had a mirror to look into while he shaved his facial hair, whereas Clarke can’t really see the parts where she always ends up cutting herself.

“And how do I avoid the red bumps?”

Bellamy furrows his brows and asks, “Where are you getting red bumps?” Clarke opens her mouth to speak, but she doesn’t have a lie ready to go. She blinks rapidly, trying to figure out which part of her leg she could claim has them, but she gets caught on the fact that she can’t remember the word for ankle for a good five seconds. When she looks back at Bellamy, his face has shifted. “We’re not talking about you shaving your legs, are we?”

A blush creeps through her cheeks. Of all the people she had to discuss this with, why did she pick Bellamy? If Murphy had realized Clarke was asking about shaving her cunt, the embarrassment would last all of five seconds. But who knows how long she’ll go without being able to make eye contact with Bellamy after this? And for something so shallow as wanting a clean shaven vagina that no one but herself will enjoy.

“Hence why I wanted to talk about this with Raven,” Clarke chokes out before pushing to her feet. She is about to go back to her room and bury her face into a pillow until the embarrassment subsides, but Bellamy reaches out to grab her hand.

“I could help.”

“You tried. I’ll just ask Raven later if she knows what I should—”

“No, I mean I could do it for you,” Bellamy interrupts, and the blush that still hasn’t left her cheeks explodes into a splotchy mess covering her face, neck, and chest. The image of Bellamy between her legs, dragging a wet razor over here sensitive flesh, his fingers so close to where Clarke’s were last night as she thought about him… it floods her mind and makes it impossible for a coherent word to come out of her mouth.

Though she never means to agree, she must have said something to that effect because the next thing she knows, Bellamy is following her out of the mess hall. Her throat is dry and her mind is hazy. She can’t stop seeing him between her legs, staring at her fresh shaven cunt appreciatively.

Clarke only comes back to her senses when they’re in the tiny bathroom and Bellamy is rinsing off the razor. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Bellamy replies, and warmth pools in her stomach. He’s been like this a lot ever since she “died.” For days, he doted on her like she was some fragile little thing. He probably would have carried her everywhere if she let him. Bellamy kept her well fed and hydrated, obsessed over any evidence that Clarke might be in pain, and wouldn’t leave her side. And now, when Clarke is too exhausted from fighting yet another war and all she wants is a smooth cunt, Bellamy is insisting on giving that to her. She wonders how it is possible to love him even more than she had for those long six years.

His eyes flicker over to her and raises his eyebrows when his gaze reaches her leggings. Right. She’ll have to take those off.

Clarke waits until he turns again to tug them and her underwear off. It’s silly. It’s nothing he won’t see up close in less than a minute.

“Hop up,” Bellamy says while patting the counter. He lets her be shy for a moment longer, averting his gaze as Clarke awkwardly seats herself on the cold, tiled counter.

She keeps her eyes on Bellamy as she spreads her legs, presenting her cunt to him. His expression is unreadable. Not awkward or turned on or embarrassed. Guarded, and Clarke can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking as he squirts the cream into his hand.

“This might be cold,” he whispers before dabbing it at the center, dousing her dark curls with it before spreading it with his fingers. The first touch of his fingers to her skin jolts through her like lightning, and her breathing quickens.

Clarke braces her hands on the edge of the counter so she doesn’t fall. Seeming to have the same concern, Bellamy rests one hand on her thigh to keep her in place. The gesture is theoretically sweet, like how he always reaches for her when he thinks there’s danger nearby. But his warm hand on her bare thigh is too much for her mind to register it as sweet. It’s too close to her cunt for the word _sweet_ to even appear among her thoughts.

Bellamy takes his time spreading the cream through her hair. It’s almost like he’s petting her. His guard has lowered as his eyes stare at her cunt. They’re softer now, but focused.

He dips his hand under the faucet to rinse off his fingers. His eyes flicker up to hers but jerk away as soon as the blush forms on his cheeks.

When he picks up the razor, Clarke sucks in a breath. The first swipe of the razor is at the top of the patch, just below her abdomen. It’s a gentle glide, kind of peaceful in an odd way. Her eyes fall shut as he works that section, enjoying the smooth movements.

Faintly, she hears the water running again. A bit of it splashes on her leg as Bellamy rinses off the razor. His hand falls back on her thigh as he settles between her legs again. But instead of feeling the cold razor, Clarke feels his finger trail over the freshly shaved skin.

Her eyes jerk open to find him staring, no longer guarded or unaffected. No, his bottom lip is between his teeth as he traces the smooth skin with his calloused finger. Clarke must make some kind of noise, because his eyes fly up to meet hers in a panic. They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, and something shifts in the air. They’re both blushing, but neither of them pulls away. And as if testing to see if he could make Clarke’s heart beat out of her chest, Bellamy keeps his eyes locked on hers as he runs his thumb over the shaved skin again. She bites down hard on her bottom lip.

A quiet breath escapes from between his lips, almost like a gasp. He keeps her gaze for another moment before he turns his focus back to her cunt. Clarke props herself up a little higher so she can watch as he methodically glides the razor down her cunt. There’s an odd rhythm to it, one that enraptures Clarke.

Each time he rinses, she feels like she can breathe again. When the razor comes back to her cunt, she holds herself as still as possible, though that gets harder the closer to her clit he gets.

There are moments as he shaves the small patch of hair by her hip joint that Clarke feels so at peace she could fall asleep. No thoughts of Josephine or the Primes or what her mother did to Kane. Just the small tickle of the razor in Bellamy’s steady hand.

But then he gets closer to her pussy lips, and the pressure is too much. Clarke grips the counter hard, fighting every urge to buck her hips toward him. Heat floods her body with each torturous swipe so close to her aching clit. And when he pushes at her folds to make sure he gets it all, Clarke feels her arousal begin to drip onto the counter.

Bellamy runs his finger along the shaved side and whispers, “No bumps this time.”

Clarke can’t think of a word to say, so she merely nods and tries not to whimper when his finger leaves her skin so he can rinse off the razor again.

The last section goes about the same way, but it ends with Bellamy finding each missed patch and shaving it off. When he sets the razor down on the counter, he is about to reach out to test the skin, but he hesitates. Instead, he grabs a rag, dampens it, and dabs at her skin until it’s coated with cold water.

Clarke reaches down and runs her fingers over the skin. It’s smooth just like before, just like Josephine did it. Her fingers explore, checking for any missed spots, but she knows there are none. Bellamy didn’t miss an inch of her cunt.

Her fingers dip between her folds, and it feels just as incredible as it did when she touched herself that first night back in her body. She gets so caught up in feeling how smooth she feels, that she forgets he’s watching her.

Bellamy sucks in a breath, and she jerks her hand away. Did she really just touch herself in front of him? Her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she forces herself to look up at him. “Bellamy, I, uh—”

She cuts herself off when his gentle eyes meet hers. Clarke could just say thank you. He’d take the hint and leave so she could get dressed. The two of them could try to forget this ever happened.

But the words are lodged in her throat and get swallowed down. Clarke slams her eyes shut and tries to force them out, but then she feels Bellamy’s hands back on her thighs. Her eyes open just in time to see Bellamy lean forward and press a chaste kiss just above her slit.

Her hand grips one of his, and his eyes flutter open to look at her. But he doesn’t lift his head from her cunt. Clarke bites down hard on her lip as he flips his hand over so she can lace her fingers with his.

Slowly, his nose grazes her pussy lips and he lets his mouth hover over her wet folds. The second kiss is slow and wet, just like she imagined his kiss to her mouth would be. His other hand pushes the folds apart, letting his lips find her clit.

“Bell,” she chokes out. He sighs against her clit, his warm breath making her jerk her hips toward him.

“Tell me this is okay,” he murmurs, his voice sounding so broken and wrecked. “Please.”

“Yeah.” His hand relaxes in hers. “Please.”

Bellamy licks a slow stripe up her slit before parting her folds again. She waits impatiently for him to kiss her clit again, but Bellamy seems to have other ideas. His tongue dives between her folds, as if trying to explore every inch of her cunt. It trails over her clit a few times, but he mostly flicks it around like he wants to claim every inch of her with his tongue.

When he does finally return to her clit, Clarke slams her head back against the mirror and bites down a scream. Bellamy latches onto it with a filthy moan.

He nudges her legs farther apart and pulls off her long enough to suck his own finger into his mouth. His finger prods at her entrance right as his mouth falls back onto her clit. “That’s it,” he whispers against her wet cunt as he slips a finger inside her.

His finger fucks into her slowly, like it’s taking everything in him to be gentle. His lips and tongue match the gentle pace. It’s torturous and agonizing. Clarke is about to beg for more when the second finger slips inside, stretching her out so good.

“Fuck,” she moans as he gets knuckles deep.

“Shh,” he whispers against her clit, causing Clarke to jerk against his mouth. “Thin walls, princess.”

She shoves her hand over her mouth, tears forming her eyes as his fingers fuck her full and his tongue laps at her. She can feel the orgasm building inside of her with each thrust of his fingers, threatening to leave her shaking and breathless in a way she could never quite manage on her own.

Clarke’s fingers tug at his hair, desperate for something to keep her grounded. The sound that escapes his lips is so feral, almost like a growl. When she tugs again, he slams his fingers into her, no longer gentle and cautious. No, he’s fucking into her like a man on a mission.

“Clarke,” she hears Raven call out from the other side of the door. Bellamy’s fingers crook into her, and she spasms around them. “I heard you were looking for me.”

“No!” Clarke calls out, but her voice breaks. Her vision blurs and she braces her hand on the cold mirror. Bellamy slows his fingers and starts kissing around her folds. The orgasm washes over her too hard, making it impossible for Clarke to form a coherent response without alerting Raven to what is happening on this side of the door.

“Are you okay?” Raven asks through the door.

“Uh huh,” she stutters out.

“Okay, cool. When you get a chance, can you help me find Bellamy? He disappeared.” Clarke can feel Bellamy silently chuckle against her thigh.

“Yep.” She sits in silence until she finally hears Raven walk away. They both let out a breath.

Her legs shake. Tears stream down her cheeks. Her head feels way too light. But as she comes down, it starts to hit her. That just happened.

Bellamy finally pulls away and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Clarke opens her mouth to say something, anything really. They should talk about this. But as Bellamy steps back, leaving Clarke still spread open yet no longer being touched, she realizes this is another one of those things they won’t really talk about. Like the 2199 radio calls they skirt around or the fact that they still haven’t discussed just how far Bellamy was willing to go to bring Clarke back, this would probably never be explained.

She fights back different tears as she hops down from the counter. Clarke turns away as she tugs her underwear and leggings back on, and when she turns around, Bellamy is leaning against the counter, watching her with a strange look on his face.

“Thank you for, um, helping me,” she murmurs, feeling stupid as soon as the words are out of her mouth. When she reaches the door, Bellamy grabs her wrist. Before she can say anything, he spins her around, presses her against the door, and slams his lips into hers.

It’s hard and desperate, more hungry than gentle. Somehow, it’s more overwhelming than his hands and mouth on her cunt were. More shocking than the first graze of the razor. Filthier than any first kiss Clarke has ever had, made even more so by the realization that she’s tasting herself on his tongue.

He doesn’t really pull away. Bellamy just stops kissing and rests his lips against hers while he catches his breath. When his dark eyes finally meet hers, he whispers, “After we see what Raven wants, can we, uh, talk or—"

“Yeah,” she interrupts all too eagerly.

A smile tugs at his lips. “Okay,” he murmurs.


End file.
